


Kindred Spirits

by DominusFero



Series: Tales From Demysarria [2]
Category: Camp Camp (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels, Alternate Universe - Celestial Being, Alternate Universe - Family, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Daniel-centric, Gen, Lost Child, No Dialogue, Parental Instinct, Protectiveness, Self-Discovery, Slow Burn, Surrogate family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:42:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27421396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DominusFero/pseuds/DominusFero
Summary: The gates were supposed to be sealed forever, never again open to the mortal realm. Yet somehow, in some way, a human child surpassed the barrier.
Relationships: Daniel & David & Gwen & Jasper (Camp Camp), Daniel & David (Camp Camp), Daniel & Gwen (Camp Camp), Daniel & Jasper (Camp Camp), Daniel & Space Kid | Neil Armstrong Jr., David & Gwen (Camp Camp), David & Jasper (Camp Camp), David & Space Kid | Neil Armstrong Jr., Gwen & Jasper (Camp Camp), Gwen & Space Kid | Neil Armstrong Jr., Jasper & Space Kid | Neil Armstrong Jr.
Series: Tales From Demysarria [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1991374
Kudos: 6





	Kindred Spirits

**Author's Note:**

> David - Angel of Life  
> Gwen - Angel of Death  
> Jasper - Angel of Time  
> Daniel - Angel of Space
> 
> Space Kid - an innocent child lost in a world outside of reality

Space was the final frontier. But how “final” is the frontier upon which the basis of creation has been forced to reside, forever indebted to this abyss of inky blackness littered with gases, dusts and residues? Space was quiet. Space was endless. And even for an immortal being, it was far too isolating to do much good for critical thinking.

Staring into the pool formed at the center of Demysarria, the Angel of Space had long since fallen into an endless pit of cosmic proportions. Cyan colored eyes were windows to the marvelous extravagance that was the universe. But these eyes grew weary of the repetitive nature of nature. The brilliance of stars imploding upon themselves at the end of their life cycles, forming new galaxies or black holes, did little to calm its restless spirit. Collapsing systems and crumbling planets brought no new excitement as it had all been seen before. Stars were born, planets were formed but neither were anything new. The edge of the universe was infinite in form and existence, stretching on beyond the confines of reality. Once the Angel had ventured there, never would it ever return. Space was cold but open and inviting, welcoming all into its limitless expanse. Nothing yet everything existed in space, a realm of its own making. Parts of it were confined to the Angel’s current body, like a piece of a larger puzzle stolen from the box. The Angel never longed to be a part of space itself, its sentience was a gift well cherished. But what piece of space was it formed from? Where exactly did it come into being? Was space truly infinite or was it a mirage conjured up as a way to toy with conscious beings? Infinite...yet oh, so contrived.

Suddenly, its concentration was shattered, ripping the Angel from its Elysian sight and thrusting it into the current time. The Angel’s eyes widened at the sensation of being touched by mortal hands. Peering under both of its left arms, the Angel of Space was met with the wide brown eyes of a little human boy. The little boy held up his hands, flexing his pudgy little fingers in a grabbing motion. Wide eyed and with a large goofy grin, the boy giggled, begging to be picked up.

At first, the Angel was confused, unsure of how exactly to react to the situation. The two exchanged silent stares for a short while, eyes locked in a battle of wits as the two stood beside one another in the grass. The Angel of Space suddenly turned towards the boy, meaning to present its full attention. Inadvertently, the Angel had spooked the boy with its quick movement, causing the child to jolt, stumble and land on his bum in the grass. Unperturbed, the boy snickered, finding the situation humorous while the Angel merely watched in bafflement. Humans were an elusive, confusing species. It then bent over and picked up the child, earning some giggles and squeals of delight. Quickly, the Angel craned its head towards the vast expanse of Demysarria. The souls in sight were those of the dearly departed, their transparent bodies mingling into large clumps as white outlines mixed. No sign of a single living form other than the boy. But...how had he gone unnoticed for so long? The gates were a dreadfully long distance away for a human to walk, let alone a child. It was a journey unto itself, and only one such human had ever dared to breach those gilded doors. And ultimately, the fool paid with his life. But a child? Children never have intentions to do much besides explore, explore the world, explore life! And the gates...were they not supposed to be sealed forever? How did this boy cross the barrier, how did he get in?

The Angel of Space squinted at the boy, bright cyan leaking through thin slits like holes in a linen. The boy squealed with laughter, kicking his legs wildly as he was supported by his armpits. The Angel winced at the shrill sound, not used to the sharpness when the realm in which it dwelled was so still. This human, this boy, needed to be returned to his rightful home. He could not stay, not when the other Angels could take his presence as a challenge.

Raising a free hand, the Angel conjured a portal leading to the entrance to the gates of Demysarria. Entering the portal, the Angel walked the short distance to the gates bridging Demysarria with the mortal realm. The gates groaned in protest to being forced open after so many years of closure. Pried open far enough to allow the Angel to slip through with its stowaway, the gates hung open, glinting in the pale light. The human world was dark except for a rapidly fading yellowish-orange glow of a setting sun. The luscious grass transitioned to a dusty leaf-covered path, laden with twisting roots and loose pebbles. A mountainous terrain, far from most civilizations. The forest was alive with the chirps of crickets and the whistling of trees creaking in the breeze as their needles grinded against one another. The Angel then lowered the boy, setting him on the ground. Turning its back to the boy, the Angel then reentered its homeland and shut the gates, sealing the entrance with a hex.

As it began to retreat, the Angel heard a metallic groan followed by a clang. Head on a swivel, the Angel’s eyes widened in shock. The boy was  _ inside _ the gates. Inside, standing there with a wide smile, hands behind his back as he swayed back and forth on his bare heels. Oh, brilliant. A trickster. Of all the ill-gotten humans to curse this land, a mere child was proving to be most troublesome. Annoyed, the Angel of Space furrowed its eyes and stalked forward. It snatched the boy by the wrist and forcibly yanked him behind it. Phasing both itself and the boy through the gates, the Angel led the boy over to a large, moss-covered boulder half-buried in the dirt and muck. It firmly sat the boy down, pointing a finger in his face as if to demand,  _ “STAY. Don’t you move.”  _ Turning its back yet again on the boy, the Angel felt a tug on its hand. A sharp crack broke the still air as the Angel’s head snapped at an odd degree as it whipped its body around. Its mouth was slightly agape at the slit in the neck where the face began to split. But rather than scar the poor child with the face of nightmares, the Angel fused its face back together. The poor thing did not deserve to be ruined in such a way, but why, why in all dimensions, was it so intent on associating with the Angel?

Wrenching its hand free of the child’s grip, the Angel straightened itself. It lingered, staring at the hopeful child standing before it in the dimly lit forest. Beautiful brown eyes that had yet to see the pitfalls of life gazed back, wide and optimistic with innocence and splendor. This had to be a test of some variety from the God of Creation itself. Testing its virtue, its patience, its tenacity. Only a human child could truly provide the sort of challenge to properly rival a divine being, to make it question not only its loyalty to the rules of the realm but its commitment. Only a human child. But of all the Angels, why the Angel of Space? Why it, why now, why this particular child?

The boy stepped closer, taking back the hand that was removed from his. The boy squeezed the Angel’s hand, looking to it with some indiscernible emotion. Was it whimsy? Was it guidance? The Angel was at a loss for exactly how to approach the situation, let alone address its own innermost feelings. It was a governing force over the laws of space and conception, the ruler of the cosmos, creator of planets, stars and heavenly bodies. Not...a child’s play thing, not...a caretaker of any sort. The Angel of Space maintained eye contact with the boy, trying to decipher the meaning behind their paths crossing. It said nothing and neither did the boy. The pair faced one another in a crushing silence, with only the sound of buzzing cicadas and chirping crickets to listen to. Then, without so much as warning, the Angel vanished with a sudden  **_whip_ ** of air, leaving the boy all alone in the forest yet again.

Reappearing at the foot of the pool where it had originally stood, the Angel of Space scrutinized its rippling reflection in the crystal clear waters. How could a mere human child breach the barrier into a sacred dimension without notice? Why did that child seek out only the attention of the Angel of Space and not any of the other Angels? Why not the grand creator? Mind racing with unexplained and unwanted questions, the Angel clasped its four hands together in two pairs. Pressing the palms flatly together, the Angel arched its back until it was erect and straight. Chest puffed out, the Angel momentarily closed its eyes. For a moment, the air was still with no sound, no movements disrupting the tranquility. 

After a brief pause, the Angel unstiffened. Relaxing its shoulders, the Angel let its body hang loosely as it stood overlooking the water. Mind centered, the Angel began to refocus on its Elysian vision, probing deep into the truest meaning of its purpose. For all probable dimensions expanding across an infinite number of realms stretching out upon an infinite horizon, a series of unscripted events unravel in a multifaceted path with overarching branches that fan out over a broad pathway that becomes narrower and narrower over the course of time. With time as the metaphorical, and sometimes metaphysical, horizon on which events and happenstances officially form, space becomes irrelative and irrelevant. Space itself, the massive black void sprinkled with a generous dusting of stars, planets, planetoids, asteroids, meteors and other various celestial forms, becomes a contingent in the grand scheme of life. And with life, comes death. That is why the four Angels exist. The Angels exist to serve as curators and guides between these four principles of existence. The Angel of Life provides the world with living creations, supplementing the chain of reality with figures on which it feeds. The Angel of Time allows for these creations to grow and flourish throughout their cycles, allowing for change, for renewal. The Angel of Death provides an end to a means, as with the passage of time comes aging. Organic beings wither away, no longer able to supplement their forms beyond an allotted frame of existence. So, Death comes to remove their souls from their wasted bodies, from which new life can then begin to rise and begin anew. But in order for all these things to happen, a home, a place needs to be provided. Space. Space to occupy, to live in, to thrive. Space...broken by the constraints of time and populated by both life and death. Space. Empty yet not so empty.

Suddenly, the Angel felt something warm and oddly sharp yet blunt grip its leg and it’s train of thought screeched to a grinding halt. Torn from its thoughts, the Angel turned its attention to the source and nearly spontaneously fractured itself out of existence in stupefaction. Gripping tightly to the Angel’s right leg, head pressed its upper thigh, stood the human boy. His eyes held this mischievous glimmer, like the boy was pleasantly aware of the absolute insanity of this situation and the madness in which he was pushing the Angel into. Positively perplexed, the Angel conceded. Lifting the boy into its arms, the Angel cradled the boy, unsure of what else it should do. Studying the human, the Angel of Space began to take in the tired nature of the child. His eyes were half-lidded, head bouncing as the poor thing jolted himself awake after nodding off. Exhausted, the boy yawned, emitting a darling little squeal that conjured up disconcerting feelings of unexplainable joy and warmth within the celestial being. Enigmatic and mentally paralyzed, the Angel hurriedly attempted to calculate a probable causation for both these new feelings and the presence of the human child. However, there would be no time for thinking.

The air grew stale, the lingering spirits quickly fading from existence as a dark shadow fell over the pair. Inexplicably overcome with a primal rage and a resurgence of its instinct to kill malicious souls, the Angel of Space hunched over in a protective stance, pressing the boy against its chest. The child squeaked out in surprise at the sudden notion of being squished, balling his hands up into tiny fists as he clung to the Angel. Manifesting from the ground up was the silken cloak of darkness that made up the Angel of Death. With a  **_thwap!_ ** , the Angel’s massive lavender wings fanned open, arching towards the sky, revealing both the Angels of Time and Life. Iridescent violet met blazing cyan, violet narrowing into thin slits as cyan began to fade to grey. Growling, the Angel of Space began to utter a viper-like hiss against its will as its mouth split wide open. A large swirling tongue lolled out of its maw, surrounded by a sea of fanged white. Internally, the Angel fought itself, trying to force its mouth shut, much to its own dismay. Its fellow Angels silently observed their comrade’s odd behavior, unmoved by the act. The Angel of Space struggled to contain this newfound rage, slowly inching away from its cohorts in order to stave off an unprovoked attack. In its mind, it was protecting the child. This boy had done nothing except mistakenly wandered into a realm in which he did not belong. By no means was that grounds for annihilation. Too many interlocking and contradicting thoughts were mashing together, overrunning the Angel of Space’s mind. Unwilling to confront its fellow Angels and unsure of how to conduct itself, the Angel of Space dissipated its form, vanishing into thin air and leaving the stunned child sitting in the grass at the feet of the other Angels.

Materializing within its own sector of Demysarria, the Angel of Space slowly calmed itself. Those primal urges were gone, no longer a plague upon its body. But how? How had that happened? What had that boy done to control a celestial being with such ease, without having to lift so much as a single finger? Confounded, the Angel conjured a tear in the fabric of Demysarria’s reality through which it could survey the situation from afar. 

Currently, the Angel of Time was kneeling before the boy in an act of submission. Again, how? HOW, HOW, HOW??? The Angel screamed internally, enraged at how this simple creature was ruling what were essentially gods. Looking closer, the Angel of Time appeared to be permitting the human child to marvel at its form. The child excitedly reached for the Angel of Time, groping at its exposed mechanical shoulder. With great care and a gentle hand, the Angel pushed the child’s hand away, wagging a finger in discipline.  _ “No, no! No touching!” _ it seemed to say without words. After all, wandering hands could get pinched in the grinding cogs of the Angel’s being, which would be unpleasant for both the boy and the Angel. The Angel of Space had made that mistake once. Having been overcome with intrigue and a strange sensation that left a rosy haze in its eyes, the two Angels had grown close, exploring facets of their individual realities. Unbeknownst to both, there were physical limitations. The incident had caused a slight rift between the two Angels temporarily, but all was forgiven soon enough. It hoped the child would not do the same.

Meanwhile, the child had lost interest in the Angel of Time, turning and ambling over to the Angel of Death, prompting a panic from all four angels. The harbinger of decay raised its wings in preparation to fly away, not wanting to accidentally steal the life of the innocent child. The Angel of Space hurriedly teleported itself back to the clearing, desperate to snatch the child before it accidentally made contact with the Angel of Death. But it was too late to stop what was already in motion. The boy fell against the Angel’s cloaked legs, fists clenching to the silken fabric of the cloak. Amazingly, the child still stood, alive and well and smiling. Lowering its wings, internally relieved, the Angel of Death lovingly patted the boy on the head. Its cold tanned fingers faded to a smooth black, where flesh sharpened to a painfully sharp claw. The child cooed, gargling a mouthful of babble and spittle. Iridescent violet eyes creased into crescents, alight with a joy that had yet to be seen from the Angel. But as the tensions eased and the wings of the Angel of Death receded, a new terror presented itself in the eyes of the Angels. 

A fair distance behind the Angel of Death stood the God of Creation, seemingly fixed in its position as it stared down at its disciples with faceless, unreadable emotion. Studying. Observing. Knowing. What would become of the Angels sworn to protect that of which was sacred? The rules had been broken; a mortal allowed to live beyond the front gates, allowed to touch and to see otherworldly beings. The very sanctity of Demysarria, abandoned. And for what? A measly human child. And yet, the God of Creation did nothing. Seemingly testing its devotees and their loyalty or observing the situation for its own personal amusement.

Then suddenly, the boy disappeared then reappeared in one of the God of Creation’s arms. The boy looked momentarily stunned before clapping and babbling with excitement. Another arm raised, pointer finger elevated as it playfully jammed into the child’s tum. The boy squealed, kicking his legs and arched his back as he fought off a fit of shrill laughs and howls of mirth. Ah, so it seemed the grand creator had a soft spot for the innocent and pure. The Angel of Space quickly approached its leader, falling to its knees in a mock plea for forgiveness. Though the child had proven himself harmless, it was a huge controversy to allow living beings to enter Demysarria, let alone to intermingle with the beings that guarded its gates. The Angel had failed its mission and had allowed itself to go native. It wanted to experience forgiveness, so that its mind may rest in assurance that it had acknowledged its own faults. It needed forgiveness so that it could feel secure in its path. It craved forgiveness, knowing that it was valued enough to be allowed to continue existing despite its shortcomings. It pleaded, head bent, arms forward, the magenta glow absent from its form. But the wrath of the God of Creation never came. No hellfire, no bubbling emptiness from a fading body, no eternal nothingness. Only... _ laughter? _

It was an eerie sound, one none had heard in eons. It was heavy yet light, deep but shallow and broken while still remaining as one whole sound. It sounded both distinctly female and distinctly male in unison. Demonic while still heavenly. A cursed, shambling wreck of borrowed sound mashed together in a symphony of disarray.

The God of Creation then beckoned the Angel of Space forward, to which the Angel eagerly leapt to its feet. Its leader then deposited the boy back into the arms of the Angel, casting it a knowing look despite having no face. The boy, with one arm laid lazily across the Angel’s shoulders, waved with its other hand as the God of Creation turned to leave. And amazingly, it waved back before shooting off with a crack in the form of white lightning.

A few years passed in the seemingly timeless realm, the young human boy growing into a free-spirited young adolescent with the aid of his ethereal surrogate family. Despite knowing the boy was safe, the Angel of Space was plagued by a compulsion to passively observe the child from afar no matter whom the boy was with. 

It watched through the tear in reality as the Angel of Life would weave newly bloomed flowers into the boy’s hair, watching as the stems curled from its roots through silken brown locks. It listened as the Angel of Life strummed the guitar formed from its own wood and vines, smiling whenever the boy put words to its cohort’s music. At times, it found itself singing along with both the boy and the Angel of Life despite its better judgment. The Angel tried to not let its sublime voice overshadow that of the boy’s as it listened to the wondrous song. Other times, the boy decorated the Angel of Life’s knotted, twisting wooden claws with crude images carved into its flesh with a shard of the Angel of Death’s claws. Often these pictures were of simple things: a lopsided flower, a simplistic bird with too long legs, a slanted house with a curling smoke wisp, a horse that looked more closely like a dog. The Angel of Space could see the overwhelming joy this simple act brought the Angel of Life. It had never seen its fellow Angel so happy over something so mundane. It briefly wondered if these markings held any further meaning beyond childish artistry. However, the Angel of Space could not allow the child to be alone with the Angel of Death. The possibility of an accident occurring was too high for its liking. It had little to worry about. The Angel of Death relished in the hugs it received, thankful to at long last touch another without taking its life away. Despite having work to do, the Angel never minded the boy running and hiding beneath its cloak. It encouraged the boy to learn about death so that it would never suffer sadness at the hands of loss. And while the grass would fade to brown and the dirt would dry up to dust in its wake, the Angel found joy in its existence once again with each and every game the two would play. The Angel of Death had been terribly lonely, even with fellow immortal beings coexisting alongside it. Knowing this, it made the Angel of Space less reluctant to leave the two alone. 

Spending time with the Angel of Time left the Angel of Space with mixed feelings, though these feelings were seldom related to the boy. It felt an impending sense of infatuation, stemming from what it could not exactly place. Whenever it watched the Angel of Time slow time to a standstill so that the boy could pretend to fly, the look of utter exhilaration and pride in its actions began to conjure up remnants of those rosy hazes. Slowly, so very slowly, the boy would fall and the Angel would always be there to catch him. With the air unmoving, the boy could flap his arms as he hung free in the frozen sky. He could be a superhero, free from the laws of time. And something about that, about the way in which the Angel of Time was careful yet carefree, it was...enchanting.

But by far, the time spent alone with the boy were the best moments in the Angel’s entire immortal existence. The boy would gaze in awe at the Angel’s body, studying the swirling cosmos and twinkling stars within its form. He would reach out to touch the dazzling nebulas or try to grab the fiery shooting stars, though his hands would not penetrate the Angel’s corporeal form. It made the Angel chuckle softly, making a sound akin to the clatter of wind chimes. Sometimes, it would softly grip the boy’s hands with two of its own, then cup its other two together. Stars would conjure in its palms, shimmering in splendor as the boy tried to claim them as his own. And the Angel would transfer these newborn stars into the boy’s hands, watching his eyes grow wide with elation. Sometimes, it would hold him in its four arms, singing softly every evening as the night grew cold. Combing its delicate fingers through the boy’s soft brown locks, the Angel would stare in the limitless void of space, wondering how it could be so lucky to have been gifted this boy.

Once thought to be malevolently benevolent beings who wanted nothing more than to protect their home, the Angels true selves began to show. And though living souls were never permitted to venture into Demysarria, it seems that in extreme circumstances, exceptions could be made.


End file.
